Bitter about Glitter

I am back to blogging! Woo Hoo! Not that I have time for it yet, but I feel like I have neglected my poor little blog. It's all dusty and cob-webby. The milk is out of date and the bananas are black and squishy. No good!

So, awhile back I mentioned that I am glitter intolerant. Don't get me wrong, I like all things sparkly (Husband, are you reading this? Valentine's is coming up.), but I don't enjoy glitter.

I took down all our Christmas decorations on December 27 (I told everyone I was going to leave them up longer this year since Thanksgiving was later this year. By December 26, I was going nuts to take them down. OCD out of control!), yet I am still vacuuming up glitter 15 days later from the various ornaments and bedecked decorations. It is ground into the carpet and refuses to budge. Such is my life.

I realized early in life that glitter was the bane of my existence when I got some in my eye during an Easter project where we had to use glitter to decorate a giant cardboard egg. Oh, it was beautiful and pink and sparkly, but somehow the glitter got in my eye. And I think I may have inhaled a little. I was young. Anyhow, it made my eye all scratchy and sore for a long time. And it didn't taste good.

I forgot how much I hated glitter until last Fall. My precious 8 year old daughter decided to dress up as Tinkerbell for fun. She put on the costume and got out something that had come with it called "Fairy Dust." Innocuous enough, right? How bad could it be? HORRIBLE! She went traipsy-ing through the house with her magic wand and little pouch of fairy dust. I even complimented her on how very cute and pixie-ish she was. That is, until I looked down at our living room sofa. "Why is it twinkling at me?" I thought. Then I looked at the carpet and the kitchen tile and the countertops and the breakfast table and the stairs and the ottoman and the hallway floor and the wooden stairs and the bathroom floor and her bedspread and...need I say more? This stuff wasn't that big chunky kind of glitter either--you know, the cheap stuff? It was that finely ground, powdery kind of glitter. Like Martha Stewart makes, only not with pretentious names.

(Insert separate rant here: What is that woman's problem??? Why can't she name the glitter normal color names? Nooooo, she names them "Golden Beryl, Lapis Lazuli, Tourmaline, and Fire Opal!" I couldn't pick "Golden Beryl" out of a line-up if I my life depended on it! For the uneducated, it is described as "a bright, springtime yellow-green color." I say "snot green." Why can't she? When's the last time your kid asked you to hand them the tourmaline crayon? FYI: It's HOT PINK.)

So, long story short, many vacuumings later, this stuff is still around. I see a little and I vacuum and think I got it all. Finally. But no, alas. It mocks me. And I made it oh-so-much worse with the glitter shedding Christmas decor.

Final thought: They make glitter somewhere. Somebody has to clean the glitter-making factory. Some guy that works there comes home and his wife says, "Honey, you've got something under your eye. Let me get it. Wait, I don't see it. No, there it is...wait...where did it go?" That would be my version of Hades on earth. That and having to watch Mariah Carey act in a movie about said item:








Rant over.